


The Way to Happiness

by eckcro



Series: Suburban Danvid Family AU [2]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Cult, Daniel is an actual scientologist, Death, Murder, Suburban Danvid Family AU, gun - Freeform, headcanons, scientology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eckcro/pseuds/eckcro
Summary: The single most formative moment in Daniel’s life was the moment he chose loyalty to religion over loyalty to his parents. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, it was just that they didn’t know what was best for themselves.(Although part of the Suburban Danvid Family AU, you don't need to read the main fic to understand this one)





	1. Aberration

**Author's Note:**

> I actually only meant for this to be a short drabble, but as I wrote it it just kept going and going until it got to be this.
> 
> First, I wanted it to be a drabble, then one chapter, and now I know it’s actually gonna be two chapters.

A chill breeze ruffled Daniel’s soft hair. Discreetly, he pulled his jacket a little tighter around his slight shoulders, turning his collar up against the cold. His mother walked beside him, hair tied back in a long elegant braid. For a while, they said nothing, but Daniel had the sense that there was something his mother desperately wanted to say. Still, the silence stretched on, longer than the shadows of the trees clinging to the edges of the compound’s residential sector.

It was not a comfortable silence.

Daniel felt his mother’s eyes periodically flick over to him, as if trying to determine his reaction to the thoughts she planned to share. Or perhaps, to determine whether to share those thoughts at all. Or maybe she just wanted reassurance. Reassurance that Daniel was still there, that he hadn’t disappeared in the short time her eyes had strayed from him.

The breeze pushed over grass, bent the stems of flowers, pushed against songbirds in flight. Daniel and his mother walked. High above, the clouds swirled and swayed in an intricate and wild dance. Daniel could feel that same energy flowing off of his mother. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

The sun dipped lower, and the nightly orchestra struck up its regular tune. Crickets chirped, a constant low hum underneath the distant hoots of owls and occasional interjection from a coyote. Individual trees were hard to make out; only the tree line — as a whole, as one living unit — was discernible in the near-darkness. Lights were coming on in the houses far behind them, spilling out onto the street and into backyards as parents called their children inside for dinner, or more likely, for bed.

“We should return home,” Daniel said, softly, almost inaudibly.

His mother did not respond immediately. For a moment, Daniel was concerned. He wasn’t sure exactly what about, but he felt the nervousness nonetheless. At last, she spoke, her voice sounding tight and unsure.

“Danny, have you ever thought about what it would be like outside of the compound?”

Daniel was taken aback. Momentarily speechless, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish gulping air. He hadn’t been expecting that question, hadn’t considered anything like it as a possible topic for his mother to broach. What was the meaning of this? Where had it come from? His mother had never expressed any interest in anything but her life in the compound, in anything but her family, her community, and, of course, their religion.

No, he must have misheard.

“Have I ever what?” Although Daniel tried to keep his voice steady, it wavered, betraying his confusion — and his fear. He could not see his mother’s face, but he imagined her expression must be one of motherly concern, could see the slightly downturned lips, the furrowed brow, the round, searching eyes. Again, his mother took a moment to respond.

“Danny, have you ever… considered the possibilities…” she trailed off, her voice disappearing into the background of night creatures singing their simple tunes.

They continued walking, soft earth giving slightly under their thick-soled shoes. Fireflies swirled in lazy clouds to the front, back, and sides of them, never too close. Never too close to be caught. To be caught, and placed in a jar to be put on the kitchen windowsill, sitting there until their tiny black bodies fell to the bottom, legs curling up miserably as they expired. No, never that close.

The sun had almost completely slipped beneath the horizon by the time his mother found her voice again. “Danny, what I’m trying to say is, I — that is, your father and I — have been talking recently and… Well, we’ve been having some very serious conversations. About the compound. About this life. Did you know, neither of us were born here?”

Daniel found his curiosity piqued. He hadn’t known that. He waited patiently for her to elaborate on her own.

“Danny, what do you think about life in our community?” His mother’s voice sounded nervous, desperate, laced with guilt. Daniel stopped walking. She must have still been able to make out his silhouette from the corner of her eye, for his mother stopped walking as well.

And all the time, the crickets hummed.

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” There, spoken like an Auditor. Hopefully. Daniel sensed rather than saw his mother’s flinch.

“Danny, please…” Daniel could almost feel his mother reaching out to him — lowering her arm at the last second before contact — as she said this.

Daniel’s stomach clenched, his heart tightened, as he opened his mouth again. “I—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to clear it before continuing. “I like it here. It’s nice.”

As it happened, his mother had had the incredible foresight to bring a lantern. Then again, she’d known what kind of conversation she’d been planning to have, so perhaps it wasn’t that surprising that she’d brought it. She turned it on, bathing the two of them in a soft yellow glow. Daniel turned his face away from it, blinded by the sudden light.

“Danny, don’t you have anything more to say than that?” Concern colored her voice, a certainty that Daniel was keeping something from her.

In truth, Daniel wasn’t quite sure what to say. He hadn’t thought much about his life — at least, not the way his mother was asking him to. As far as he was concerned, his life was perfectly fine. He had no complaints. So what was this all about? What exactly had caused his mother this discontent, this seeming… displeasure towards the compound?

“It really is nice here, though. All the people are so friendly, and someday, I’ll get to become an Operating Thetan! I could even become an Auditor! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Maybe I’ll even get to go onboard the Freewinds! I mean, I’d have to when I reach OT VIII.” At this point, Daniel was rambling, barely even aware that his mother was there with him.

“Danny,” she gently interrupted. “Danny, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Daniel felt the reality of the present come rushing back, the mood shifting into something anxious, something cold and sharp. The lantern swung back and forth with his mother’s steps, light jittering back and forth across the ground. Daniel kept his eyes turned away, out into the night. He could not see his mother’s face, but she could almost certainly see his.

Hastily, Daniel constructed a passive expression, one neutral in every way. It was easy enough. He’d done it many times before. He waited for his mother to continue.

“Danny, your father and I…” here, she took a deep breath, “want to give you a better life. We’re leaving.” Daniel felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Leaving? No, no, no. No. His mother couldn’t mean that. Maybe he was misunderstanding. Maybe they were… oh, there was no way around it. His mother's next words confirmed her meaning — her terrible, blasphemous meaning.

“All three of us are getting out of this compound. We’re going to go live with my sister while we find a new home. Your father has a bank account that he never told the cult about; we won’t be financially reliant on the Church.

“You’ll have a normal life, Danny, a good life. There won’t be any Council, or auditors, or ‘thetans,’ or any of that. You’ll be safe — we all will.” When Daniel didn’t respond, his mother continued.

“I know this might all seem normal to you. You’ve only ever known this life. And I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry, Danny. I wish it wasn’t like this, but your father and I were young, and foolish, and we made some very bad mistakes. But it’s not too late to fix it.” Daniel’s mother stopped walking, leaned over to place the lantern on the ground, and reached out, holding him firmly — but gently — by the shoulders. She gazed intently into her son’s eyes, as though trying to communicate something more than words to him. Something deeper. Something raw and painful.

Daniel’s mind instinctively recoiled from it. Pain was bad. Pain was caused by engrams. Engrams must be removed. To be Clear, all of them must be removed. And Daniel wanted to be Clear. He wanted it so, so badly. He couldn’t become an Operating Thetan without first Clearing himself. He couldn't reach his full potential without removing the engrams.

It occurred to him that perhaps his mother was acquiring engrams faster than they could be audited. The thought sent chills down his spine. His mother, however, didn’t seem to see the wariness in his eyes; she continued talking as though she believed she was getting through to him, that he was listening rather than simply hearing.

“It might be scary at first, leaving the compound behind, and I don’t blame you. It’s perfectly normal to feel that way. And I know what the Auditors say, I know what the Church says. But being afraid isn’t bad. It’s part of being human, and Danny, we are human. We don’t need to get rid of ’engrams’ to be happy or whole; we need people. We need freedom, and love, and the chance to be whatever we want because we don’t deserve any less. Once we’re free, you’ll see that there’s so much more to the world than the compound or the Church. There’s a whole world out there to explore.” She was smiling now, her eyes slightly glazed with a wistful look, gazing into a past that Daniel couldn’t see.

Daniel swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “What if I want to be an Operating Thetan?”

His mother did a double take. “What?” Her voice came out small and distant, her whole body deflating like a balloon.

“You said we should be able to be whatever we want to be, right? Well, I want to be an Operating Thetan. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His mother’s eyes were — Daniel couldn't even describe them. There was fear there, yes, but also anger and betrayal and a whole host of other messy human emotions that he couldn’t even begin to identify.

Daniel wrenched himself from his mother’s grasp, backing up into the darkness, moving steadily further and further from the lantern sitting between them. He was shaking his head, brows furrowed. His eyes were far easier for his mother to read than hers for him; Daniel’s eyes held one thing: fear.

“I’m staying here, Mother.” And with that, he turned tail and sprinted for the Great Hall.


	2. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is all wrapped up, so now I'm gonna just work on the main fic and the Jesus Camp fic.
> 
> Hit me up on Instagram at http://instagram.com/eckcro, or https://eckcro.sarahah.com

The town stood gathered in the Great Hall. They whispered and murmured, casting judgemental glances at the three standing at the front of the room. The tallest person — a man, with short brown hair and hazel eyes — had his left hand holding onto the shoulder of the second tallest — a woman, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes — while his right hand rested protectively on the head of the shortest — a boy, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched.

“Nathaniel and Claudia Evans.” The loud voice, deep and authoritative, echoed through the hall. The crowd’s hushed conversation subsided, hundreds of eyes raising to look at the podium. Or, more specifically, to look at the one standing behind it. Operating Thetan Marcus.

“Nathaniel and Claudia Evans,” he repeated, clearing his throat before swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobbed, protruding like a tumor from his neck. He swallowed, the tumor bobbed, he spoke again. “We are gathered here today to address your blasphemous actions, your impure thoughts, and your unholy words. You stand accused of conspiring to disobey the Council, formulating plans to defect from the compound, and willfully disregarding the rules that govern us, and the tenets of Scientology. And, most heinous of all, you are accused of attempting to corrupt your son with your impurities.”

A quiet cough from the crowd, quickly stifled. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Marcus’s stony gaze rested on Daniel’s parents, eyes boring into them, shredding their outer layers until he had laid bare their Thetans. Daniel kept his own gaze fixed resolutely on the ground at his feet. It was frightening, having the entirety of the compound staring at him, witnessing his family’s shame. It was embarrassing, it was terrifying, but it was something he had to endure. This was the way things had to be.

Up on the raised dais, Marcus moved his hands to rest them on the podium. His long sleeves rustled, two dry leaves draped over even dryer bark. Behind him, the rest of the Council sat, faces impassive, all staring directly ahead. Though physically present, there was the overwhelming sense that they were far away, in a place that nobody but fellow Operating Thetans could reach them.

The long silence stretched out, all the way to the ends of time and back again. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

The silence pressed down on the room with a physical presence. Daniel felt it wrap around his lungs and start constricting. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw breath into his lungs. He clenched his fists and grit his jaw, focusing on not passing out. Around him, the crowd started to murmur again, but were cut off by Marcus. Then, his father, behind him, started to speak. Daniel couldn’t make out any of the words, could only feel the vibrations and the pressure.

The white floor beneath his feet was shaking as though in an earthquake, his body feeling ready to tumble to the ground. His father grounded him. With his firm but gentle grip, Daniel’s father kept him standing upright.

Slowly, the room stopped spinning and the weight pressing against Daniel’s chest subsided. He took a grateful breath — quietly, through his nose — and slowly raised his head to look at Marcus.

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans, what response do you have to that?” Marcus demanded, referring to a previous statement that Daniel had not been able to hear.

Daniel’s parents whispered quietly to each other, too high and too soft for Daniel to make out. But he could still read their faces. His mother’s face, carefully controlled, with a flicker of fear hiding behind her eyes. His father’s face, as stony and impassive as Marcus’s, though his eyes blazed with defiance.

Daniel was acutely aware of the crowd pressed up around them, too close yet too far away. The crowd was one meter from the Evans family on all sides, nobody daring get any closer, all of them wanting to. Each shuffle, each foot tap, each twitch and slide of cloth over arms, each tick-tick-tick of the wall clock; Daniel was aware of them all, felt them beating against his skull like tiny mallets.

And if those were mallets, then Marcus… Marcus was a sledgehammer.

His deep, booming voice called once again, this time, to Daniel. “Daniel Evans, please step forward.”

Immediately, Daniel felt his legs freeze. His eyes went wide and his mouth went dry. He stared dumbly at the front of the podium, the S connecting two triangles — the very familiar S and two triangles — staring back. His mother and father seemed just as reluctant to let him step closer to the podium as Daniel himself was. And yet, Marcus’s commend left no room for question. No room for disobedience, only compliance.

Lifting his right foot off the ground, Daniel shakily took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was standing closer to the podium than he’d ever been before. The hall’s stale air — warm with the heat of many living bodies — curled around Daniel, holding him fast. He knew it would not let go.

Marcus leaned forward, looking Daniel over the way one might examine a rat destined to become snake food. Daniel shivered slightly, shoulders coming up, glancing furtively around the room. His body told him to run. His mind told him to stay. His feet knew the hall well, knew the fastest way to the exit, were sure of their ability to make it through the crowd before he could be caught. His mind cautioned against such a course of action.

Daniel let his mind win.

“Young Daniel Evans, what say you to your parents’ crimes?” The question was loaded, blunt, accusatory. Marcus was allowing no room for disagreement. Marcus never allowed any room for disagreement.

The whole of the compound stared, waiting for Daniel to reply. Whether they wanted to watch him fail, or succeed, he could not tell. He simply knew that they watched. They were hungry for something. He may have been hungry for the same thing, though really, who was to say?

Daniel glanced back at his parents, at the crowd behind him, looked to the far wall on the other side of the Great Hall. His mother had a hand over her mouth, his father had both arms wrapped around her. Swallowing, Daniel returned his eyes to the podium. He cleared his throat, tried to do it quietly, failed. Marcus lifted a single thick eyebrow.

“I…” Daniel searched Marcus’s face quickly, hoping for an answer. Briefly, he saw a flash of something in those steely eyes. He felt it lending him strength as he opened his mouth again. “I don’t believe they know what’s best for themselves.”

The crowd was nodding, thrumming with the energy of a great being receiving the correct input, the correct stimuli. It was being nourished. Daniel was the one nourishing it. Daniel would continue to nourish it. He wanted to continue to nourish it. Whatever he was feeding it, he was being fed as well.

Marcus nodded his approval. With a gesture of his right hand, he signalled Daniel to continue.

Daniel frowned. What else should he say? The memory of the previous night’s conversation with his mother played in his mind. He scanned through it, desperately searching for something to grab onto. Daniel could not find anything he had not yet told the Council in private, until—

“I’m worried. I think my parents are acquiring engrams faster than they can be audited. I don’t think they’ll ever become Clears.” Although painful to admit out loud, Daniel knew it had to be done. It had to be done, for himself, for his parents, for the community.

“I see.” Marcus looked interested. “Please elaborate.”

Standing up straighter, Daniel took a deep breath. “My parents have always been model citizens. They’ve never been unhappy, and they’ve never wanted to leave. Until recently, they’d never talked about anything outside the compound. But… then they got scared. Scared for me, scared of the compound. That stems from engrams, and if it wasn’t there before, then that means they’ve somehow picked up more. Despite weekly Auditing, they have more engrams now than ever before.” He hoped he was properly emulating Marcus — well, the whole Council, really — and his official-sounding, intelligent speech pattern. The Council would take him more seriously if he sounded more like them.

“An astute assessment,” Marcus said, nodding gravely. “Follow it to its logical conclusion.”

“Conclusion?” Daniel tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing in confusion.

“If they are acquiring engrams, and they refuse to be audited, then they cannot become Clears. If they attempt to corrupt another — namely, you — and try to kidnap you, to wrench you from your path to ascension, what must happen?”

Sweat ran down the back of Daniel’s neck. His heart was thumping violently against his rib cage. He didn’t know the answer. He didn’t know the right answer. Why didn’t he know the right answer? Daniel tried to think, ordered his mind to find the right information, to search all memory files to formulate the correct response. Marcus would not be asking him if he didn’t believe Daniel to already know.

The crowd shifted behind him, breathing rhythmically, lungs filling and emptying as one. Daniel wanted nothing more than to back up, to keep walking until he was subsumed into the crowd, folded back up into his fellow believers. Instead, here he stood, before the podium, eyes raining judgement down upon him. They were questioning his faith. Though it was Daniel’s parents who had been disloyal, Daniel’s own loyalty was being called into question.

It was almost enough to make him resent them.

“Young Daniel, what would you say must be done? Considering your parents’ crimes, what should become of them?” Marcus’s voice boomed in Daniel’s ears, bouncing around in his head, demanding a response.

“W-well, we usually send criminals to the Purification Chambers.” Daniel’s voice wavered and cracked, betraying his weakness. He bit the inside of his mouth, trying to distract himself from his shame.

“Very good, Young Daniel. You are technically correct. However, considering the weight of their crimes, they must be dealt with in a more permanent way. They wanted to leave, so now, we are going to send them away.”

An older boy — he must have been about sixteen years of age — stepped out from behind the Council. He carried in his hands a box, a smooth, sanded wood box. Daniel recognized him as a Clear, in training to become an auditor. He’d seen him on occasion outside of the Auditing Center. He’d seen him around the compound, always walking just behind an auditor, or a group of Auditors.

But why wasn't an auditor carrying the box?

“Maximilian Clear, bring the box forward.” Marcus hadn’t turned his head, and Maximilian hadn’t made a sound; Daniel wasn’t sure how Marcus had known when to order Maximilian forward.

Maximilian walked forward, head level, gaze fixed at some point just above the crowd. His brightly shined shoes clicked on the floor, sounding regularly and evenly. Each step he took made Daniel’s heart beat faster, fear slowly building. Maximilian reached the edge of the dais and stopped.

“Young Daniel, step forward.”

On wobbly legs, Daniel walked toward the edge of the dais, toward where Maximilian held the box. He kept his arms stiff at his sides the whole way. He could not take his eyes away from the box. What was in the box?

Maximilian lifted the lid and offered Daniel the object inside it. It was shiny and sleek, dangerous and alluring. Daniel lifted it gingerly from the soft cushion.

“Prove your loyalty to Scientology.” Marcus’s words stabbed into Daniel, knives that dug deep, that pierced him through. Shaking, Daniel turned to face the crowd. He turned to face his parents. Slowly, he met his parents’ eyes.

All the color had left their faces. His mother shook her head. “Danny, you don’t have to listen to him.” His father squeezed her shoulder gently, reassuringly.

“Danny, don’t do this. There’s still time to fix all this.” The voice of Daniel’s father was soothing, calming. He spoke as though it were just the three of them, at home in the living room, instead of in the Great Hall before the entire compound. For a moment, Daniel wavered. Doubts starting creeping in around the edges of his thoughts, whispering seditiously.

Then the crowd began to roar, and the sound coalesced between his ears, driving away all uncertainty. Resolve took the place of doubt, a small spark planting itself inside his chest and catching hold. With steady arms, Daniel raised the gun.

The crowd flowed smoothly away, backing up until there wasn’t a single person standing behind Daniel’s parents. The gun’s barrel was lined up with the first target, the crowd radiating an anxious, excited energy. Daniel shut one eye. He aimed the gun.

“Danny, this isn’t you.” But Daniel’s father was wrong. Daniel’s parents were wrong. They were both wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Daniel would make things right.

He pulled the trigger.

In the next moment, three things happened. One, his father’s body fell to the floor. Two, Daniel’s mother rushed towards her son. Three, the crowd surged forward to restrain her. One, two, three.

“Finish it.” By this point, Marcus’s voice seemed less like it was from a person, and more like it was simply the voice of the Universe, directly communicating its commands to Daniel.

Slowly, purposefully, Daniel stepped forward. His legs were no longer shaking. His shoulders were no longer hunched over. He stood tall and proud and capable, confident in his decision. His parents couldn’t be Clear in this incarnation, so their thetans had to be released. Perhaps in their next lifetime, they would ascend. But for now… Daniel put the barrel of the gun to his mother’s forehead. Tears streamed down her face, mouth moving — pleading, crying, it did not make a difference. Daniel couldn’t hear her. Daniel no longer cared to.

A click, a pop, a thump, and it was all over. Daniel stood over the bodies of his parents, watching blood pool on the ground beneath their heads. Their eyes were open, and he kneeled down to push them closed.

Distantly, Daniel was aware that he should be feeling something other than numb satisfaction. He tried, and failed. It did not matter. He turned slowly, walking back to the dais. He lowered the gun back into the box, which was then shut, and Maximilian walked to stand behind the Council once more.

Marcus watched with a satisfied expression. He nodded, turned, spoke a few quiet words to the Council, then left the Great Hall. The second most senior Council member stepped up to the podium and began to speak. Daniel heard it as though underwater. He found himself stuck in place, even as people began to move around him, breaking off from the crowd to carry out orders. Daniel simply stood and stared.

His mother was crumpled on the ground, braid crushed beneath her body, but still as perfect as when she first did it up that morning. His father was splayed out, glasses on the ground to his left. Their bodies were close enough that their blood had run together, creating a single growing pool. They were still warm, still held traces of life. If not for the bullet holes, they could have been passed out.

Some irrational, idiotic part of Daniel half-expected them to leap up and grab him, running outside and back to their house. They would hurry into the car, start the engine. They would drive. They would drive and drive, drive down the path leading out of the compound, would go further and further away from everything Daniel had ever known. They would keep driving until they reached his aunt — a woman he had never met — and they would live with her until the three of them had found their own house to move into.

That would never happen — could never happen. Because they were dead. Daniel’s parents were dead. And he had pulled the trigger. He was still having a hard time grasping that. His mind leapt and twisted, performing great feats of acrobatics, all the while desperately avoiding the reality of the situation.

Daniel stared down at his parents. Twin bullet holes stared back.


End file.
